


Simple Addition

by Anonymous



Series: Like Oatmeal [1]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, Angst, Episode Tag, Established Relationship, Humor, I'm lying it's six times, M/M, Marriage, Slice of Life, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23054791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Now you can't even do simple addition anymore.Six times Raymond Holt and Kevin Cozner did not have sex.
Relationships: Kevin Cozner/Ray Holt
Series: Like Oatmeal [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2002432
Comments: 12
Kudos: 141
Collections: anonymous





	1. No Private Afterparty

By the time the last guests had left and Kevin had given his final instructions to the caterers as they finished cleaning up, Raymond was hoping his husband had moved beyond the no doubt overwhelming urge to say _I told you so_.

“I told you so,” Kevin said smugly as soon as the door fell shut and they were alone.

Sighing, Raymond withdrew into the living-room, an attempt to seek shelter from his husband’s gloating among the debris of his birthday party.

Which was foiled instantly, of course, as Kevin simply followed him. “Would you care to explain to me again how you like your fellow officers because they are ʻgoodʼ people?”

Raymond could not help but find the amount of glee in his husband’s voice unseemly. “No, I would not. You have made your point, Kevin.” He walked over to the still roped-off staircase and removed the barrier before making his way upstairs. Kevin trailed after him, radiating self-righteousness.

“In fact, you have practically beaten this dead horse into glue,” Raymond added as he entered the bedroom.

“Glue? Raymond, it seems your wit is only matched by your naiveté. How you would think these people could become our friends is beyond me.” Kevin scoffed and began taking off his cufflinks. “I will not have them in our home again.”

It was a waste, Raymond thought, how handsome his husband looked tonight, especially now that he had set aside the cufflinks and was undoing his tie in quick, efficient movements.

“Will I not be allowed to choose my own guests for my birthday party next year then?” he asked conversationally, while slipping out of his jacket. He was being provocative on purpose. He could tell from the arch of Kevin’s eyebrow that he had taken offense and was ready to retaliate.

“You can invite whomever you want, but you cannot expect me to interact with them,” Kevin replied, voice clipped.

“Hm, tonight might have gone better, had you not _interacted_ with Peralta.”

Kevin’s hands stilled in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt. He glared at Raymond, his eyes the steely blue that never failed to make Raymond’s heart beat faster. “Ah, so this was my fault. I am _so_ glad we cleared that up.”

Raymond tried to deescalate the situation. He raised his palms, stepping closer to his husband. “Kevin—”

Elegant as ever, Kevin took a quick, small step, slipping just out of Raymond’s reach. “So far, interacting with your colleagues certainly never has done me – or you – any good. Perhaps I should refrain from further interaction with you tonight as well, just to be safe. I could sleep in the guest room, if you’d like.”

“Don’t,” Raymond said, then to soften Kevin’s hard expression, added, “Please.” Kevin turned away, elbows tucked in as he continued unbuttoning.

“They are nothing like my previous co-workers,” Raymond said after a beat to Kevin’s rigid back. “You’ll see.” He contemplated closing the distance between them, putting a hand on Kevin’s shoulder, if only to feel the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric, but before he could make up his mind, Kevin huffed a breath and stepped into the bathroom, where he was greeted by Cheddar’s excited yipping.

They had all but forgotten about the dog, who would need to be let out into the yard after the time he had spent in the bathroom.

“I’ll take Cheddar outside, please excuse me,” Kevin said as he returned to the bedroom, buttoning himself up again with nimble fingers. Raymond could not help but mourn the pale triangle of exposed chest as it vanished behind blue fabric.

Corgi following on his heels, Kevin walked out the door.

***

When Kevin returned fifteen minutes later, Raymond was in bed, the room dark. Kevin withdrew into the bathroom silently to change into his pajamas and did not switch on the light upon reemerging. Instead, he made his way over to the bed and slipped under the covers without a word.

They lay there for a few minutes during which Raymond counted the soft breaths his husband took. He could tell that outside with Cheddar in the cool night air, Kevin had calmed down, that he would not speak to him in those sharp, pointed denunciations anymore, that perhaps they could reconcile.

He was still thinking about a possible opening line when Kevin rolled onto his side to face him. Raymond remained in the correct sleeping position, on his back, but turned his head and met his husband’s eyes.

“Raymond, you are a good man and you deserve to be surrounded by good people,” Kevin said, his voice soft but firm. “If you really want me to do so, I will give your squad another chance.”

In the dark, shadows crept into the lines on Kevin’s face, making him look older than his years and tired. His weary expression reminded Raymond of the photo they had taken with his fellow detectives and their wives decades ago. They had kept the picture, framed it even, though it commemorated what had been a deeply uncomfortable event. Perhaps more so for Kevin than for him. By then, Raymond had been used to the crude remarks whispered behind his back and sometimes uttered to his face. Kevin, however, had been ill-prepared for the open disrespect, the rampant racism and homophobia, and yet, he had stood by Raymond’s side and endured for Raymond’s sake.

Raymond reached over and took his husband’s hand, intertwining their fingers, feeling the softness of Kevin’s palms, the hint of writing callouses on his index finger.

“Thank you,” he murmured. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and held on to Kevin until morning.


	2. No Paphian Jig

Kevin had lost track of time and now, seventeen minutes after midnight, he was still sitting at his desk in the study in his robe and pajamas. He had dressed for bed an hour ago, meaning to join his husband in the bedroom right away, but then he had seen that he had left the desk lamp on in the study. He had entered the room to rectify this oversight and had promptly been distracted by the notes he had scribbled on his pad before dinner and left sitting there in the yellow circle of light.

 _Good God,_ he’d thought, spotting a forgotten serial comma, _was I intoxicated when I wrote this?_

Grateful that his husband had not wandered in before bed, seen this atrocity and realized that he had married a complete idiot, Kevin had decided to do a few speedy revisions, which had turned into an hourlong exercise in researching and reworking something that might turn into more than just the peer review for a monograph on Greek bastardy he was supposed to write.

Kevin stretched, his back popping alarmingly – had Raymond been close enough to overhear, he would have expressed concern. He got up, switched off the lamp and went into the bedroom, where, to his surprise, Raymond was still awake, reading glasses perched low on his nose as he leafed through an old issue of the New Yorker by lamplight. 

“Ah, there you are,” Raymond greeted him, setting the magazine aside.

“Yes, I’m sorry. I’m afraid I found a punctuation error in my notes. It had to be corrected immediately.”

Raymond nodded gravely. “I understand.”

“Then there were a few other things… you know how it is,” Kevin said as he hung up his robe.

“Hm, you were in the throes of academic passion.” A small, enchanting smile graced his husband’s lips. Kevin could not resist returning it.

“Quite,” he said, climbing into bed. “If I had known you were waiting up, I would have reined myself in.”

“You never have to rein yourself in on my account, dear. You know I love your,” Raymond paused meaningfully, holding Kevin’s gaze, as he took off his glasses, “unbridled passion.”

Kevin had to stifle a gasp. Heat coiling in his abdomen, he took in his husband in all his handsome glory. How had he not noticed that the top button on Raymond’s pajama was coyly left undone?

“Raymond,” he all but growled as they both moved toward one another. They met in the middle of the bed, in a kiss that took Kevin’s breath away.

Kevin slipped one arm around Raymond’s chest and pushed him down into the mattress, so he could roll on top of him. “Don’t you have to get up early tomorrow?” he murmured against his husband’s sinfully soft lips between kisses. “I thought you said your day had been rather stressful.”

Raymond smiled up at him, cupping the back of his neck to draw him even closer. His other hand settled on Kevin’s behind and squeezed playfully, sending shivers of anticipation up Kevin’s spine. “You could help me relieve some of that stress,” he suggested, voice low and filled with promise.

Kevin stole another kiss, what was supposed to be a peck turning long and lingering. He smiled against his husband’s mouth, the warmth of his lips pulsing through his entire body.

“I would love --,” Kevin whispered, only to interrupt himself at the same time that Raymond tensed beneath him. They looked at each other quizzically until the noise could be heard once more and Cheddar let out a few half-hearted whuffs.

“I think somebody is knocking on our door,” Kevin said, startled.

“At this hour…”

“I’ll go check; it could be an emergency of some kind.” Reluctantly, he rolled off Raymond and slipped out of bed. In a matter of seconds, he had shrugged into his robe and was at the bedroom door.

Raymond was sitting up against the headboard, blinking in befuddlement.

“Surely we would have received a phone call had there been an emergency,” he mused.

Kevin had no reply to that. At least not one that did not involve pointing out that certain agents of chaos had entered his husband’s life ever since he had taken command of Brooklyn’s 99th precinct.

“There is but one way to find out,” he said instead and went downstairs to check.

***

He did not know if he was surprised when he opened the door and found none other than Detective Peralta on their doorstep, an empty grin on his face as he drawled, “Keeeev” in a strangely high-pitched voice.

Kevin glared, any lingering trace of hope he might get back to bed with his husband instantly vaporizing. “Jake, it’s after midnight, this had better be about a murder.”

Peralta sobered, his expression shifting into something that, with some goodwill, could perhaps be described as apologetic. “No, I wish. Look, I’m really sorry, but I have to talk to Captain Holt.”

 _Of course._ Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Kevin called,“Raymond, your worklife is here!”

To Peralta he said in a tone he hoped would convey precisely how annoyed he was, “Please come in, take off your shoes.”

“Neither of us want that,” replied Jake, stepping inside. A statement, Kevin decided, that did not bear further contemplation.

On cue, Raymond came down the stairs, glasses folded in his hands, pajamas buttoned all the way up.

“What is going on, Peralta? This has been a long day.”

Kevin walked past his husband, catching his eye as he did so. He could tell instantly that Raymond had already resigned himself to this, to Peralta and whatever his problem was this time. He went into the kitchen for a glass of water and by the time he emerged, the two were so deep in conversation, they didn’t even notice him.

Kevin went back to bed alone and did not wait up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dialogue at the end of this chapter (between Jake, Kevin and Holt) is lifted directly from the season two episode "The Mole".


	3. No Partie de Jambes en l’Air, No Danse du Loup

Raymond jerked awake. Somewhere nearby, he heard the annoying buzzing of a device set to vibrate. Also, someone was groaning.

“Captain?” Ah, yes, Peralta. Peralta was here.

Raymond cracked his eyes open. His head hurt, he felt nauseous and unbearably hot. His back was plastered to the leather couch. The fabric of his pajama top was clinging to his skin like a wet dishrag. He could just about make out the vague shapes of his living-room furniture in the spooky glow of the iPad on the table, the source of the incessant buzzing, he realized. The screen had lit up with an alert. Raymond struggled into a sitting position; across from him, Peralta was slumped in an armchair, head lolling. 

“Sir, please make it stop.”

Raymond reached for the tablet. His hand missed by an inch. He groaned, pulling himself together, and lunged for it again. This time, he got it. It was still buzzing, the alert on the screen reading incoming video call – Professor Dr. Kevin Cozner Ph.D.

“It’s Kevin,” he shouted without thinking. His heart skipping a beat, Raymond swiped frantically at the screen to pick up.

The second his husband’s face appeared on the screen, Raymond yelled, overjoyed, “Kevin! I can see you!”, causing his throat to burn as though he had gargled bleach.

Kevin blinked at him, seemingly confused. He was wearing a striped pajama top and sitting up in bed. His brows furrowed as he squinted into the camera. He was incredibly beautiful. “Raymond? Why is everything so dark? Where are you?”

“Heyyy, Keeeev!” Peralta crowed from the armchair, then whimpered, “so much fire in my mouth…”

“Is that… Jake? What _is_ going on?”

Raymond did his best to get his brain to function. It was very difficult, also Kevin’s blue eyes were mesmerizing.

“Peralta, open the blinds, please,” he managed, sinking back into the cushions.

“Sure, you got it!” A few seconds ticked by, then Jake piped up again, sounding confused, “Have I done it yet?” A couple more moments seemed to pass, Raymond wasn’t sure. Kevin was staring at him, concerned. He said something that might have just been random sounds.

“No wait, I’m not moving,” Jake groaned. There was a commotion, followed by his enthusiastic declaration, “Now I’m moving. It’s happening!” Raymond watched as the vaguely Peralta shaped blob stumbled toward the windows. It was impossible for him to tell whether Jake was moving incredibly slowly or incredibly fast. “But ugh,” Jake mumbled, “it feels so bad. I kind of wish it weren’t happening.”

He fumbled around by the window for what seemed like hours. Raymond contemplated getting up and doing it himself, but the room was spinning lazily, and he did not want to let go of Kevin.

“Aha,” Peralta shouted triumphantly, flooding the room with light.

They both recoiled instantly from the brightness, the sunlight like acid on their eyeballs.

“Good Heavens!” Kevin exclaimed in Raymond’s hands. “Raymond, what has happened to your face?”

Despite himself, Raymond was stung by his husband’s reaction.

Behind him, Peralta flailed around before tumbling over the back of the couch and landing next to him. He grabbed something from the table and tossed it at Raymond. “Oh no, your giant repulsive deformity is grossing out Kevin, quick, cover it up with this scarf before he leaves you!”

Silently commending Jacob for his good thinking, Raymond wrapped the scarf around his neck.

Kevin was frowning at him, still looking somewhat horrified as well as breathtakingly handsome.

“I’m afraid I have contracted the mumps, Kevin,” Raymond said with what he hoped was at least some dignity.

“Now say ʻHey, boyʼ in a sexy voice to make him fall in love with you,” Jake stage-whispered next to him.

This seemed like a splendid idea, since getting Kevin to fall in love with him was imperative.

“Hey, boy,” Raymond purred. He tried to wink but could not figure out how to do it with only one eye, so he did it with both.

Grinning manically, Jake held up two thumbs.

“My Goodness, you’re both delirious with fever,” Kevin said. He leaned closer to the camera, so Raymond did too. “Raymond, you missed our scheduled call yesterday and then you called me eighteen times last night. I was worried sick about you. In fact, I was about to send my brother over to the house to check on you.”

Disturbingly, Raymond had no recollection of calling anyone, though it would explain why the iPad had been on the couch table. He swallowed against the burning sensation in his throat while Jake perked up and leaned into his space to get a better look at the screen.

“Oh, your brother? The doctor? Does he have more cold medicine? Because we need more. Also, frozen peas for our testicles. That’s really important.”

Offended, Raymond tried to push Peralta out of frame. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he hissed, “my husband is a doctor, his brother is a _dentist._ ”

“Yes, well,” Kevin began, frowning again, his troubled gaze flicking from Raymond to Jake and back again.

“Kevin,” Jake interrupted him, pushing against Raymond’s side to get his face closer to the tablet, “I think you’re the second-best movie I’ve ever seen.” He nodded to himself. Raymond scoffed as he continued, “You’re not as good as ten-hour restaurant surveillance footage, but you’re up there.”

“Don’t listen to him, Kevin. He’s talking complete _bunk_. The fever has fried his brain,” snapped Raymond. He brushed his thumb lovingly along the side of the tablet, wishing he could touch Kevin’s actual face. “You are clearly the best movie,” he said, voice almost breaking with emotion.

“Please tell me you have not been left to your own devices?” sighed Kevin.

“Amy comes by. She’s really smart and pretty,” Jake informed him.

“I would like to talk to Detective Santiago as soon as possible. Could you give me her number please?”

“Yes,” Jake nodded eagerly, “she’s a total ten out of ten.”

“Her phone number, Jake. Never mind, I will call Sergeant Jeffords.” When Kevin turned to him again, Raymond found himself falling into his eyes. “Raymond—are you okay?”

He blinked.

_I miss you so much. Please come home, Kevin._

The words were right there, heavy on his tongue, threatening to spill out of his mouth like disgusting sewage from an overflowing toilet. He could not say that to Kevin. There was a vague memory of talking to his husband a few days ago. Somewhere under the layers of fever dreams, headaches and endless videos of people eating pasta, he remembered that they had been fighting. He couldn’t recall why, but the emotions came back to him now. Misery, frustration, incredible longing.

Raymond cleared his throat, pushing all of it away.

“I’m fine. Only, I got very cold all of a sudden,” he mumbled, not trusting himself to speak up for fear of what he might say if he did.

_Come back! What are you doing over there? Can’t you see that I need you here? Don’t you need me as well?_

Nothing was more terrifying than the answer to that last question.

“Hah, classic mumps,” Jake said, oblivious as ever.

“Indeed. Please take care of yourselves. Get well soon.” Kevin’s eyes were on Raymond, the tenderness they held breaking his heart. “I love you, my darling,” Kevin said softly.

Raymond could not reply. He bit his lip, fighting the wave of emotion crashing over him. He knew if he opened his mouth, he would beg like a child.

He could not do that. He was not a child. He was an adult. An adult human male.

There was a moment of silence.

Then, surprisingly, Peralta spoke up. “Uh, I feel like we haven’t known each other well enough to—” He drew in a breath, shook his head and leaned into Raymond’s personal space, inserting himself between him and the tablet. “Wait, no, you know what, I think you’re right; we’re ready. I love you too, Kevin. Whew, feels good to finally say it. I feel like I’ve been holding it in for such a long time.”

“I was talking to my husband.” Kevin’s exasperated voice came floating up from the device.

“But you said ʻmy darlingʼ, that’s what my nana always called me—” whined Jake, only to pause as Raymond elbowed him aside. He fell back into the cushions, blinking rapidly. “I have a _very_ high fever.”

“Goodbye, Peralta,” sighed Kevin. Raymond brought the tablet closer to his own face to make sure Peralta was completely out of frame. He could tell that his husband read the emotion in his eyes. He thought he saw pain flicker across Kevin’s expression. His heart ached. More than his head, more than the goiters on his neck. Even more than his testicles, which was saying something. “Raymond, mon amour, ne m’oublie pas. Je t’aime. Au revoir.”

“I love you too. Goodbye, Professor Cozner.”

He ended the call before his heart could betray him.

***

Raymond was unable to sleep. It was a quarter past midnight and whenever he closed his eyes, he saw his husband’s face. His husband’s two-dimensional face glaring at him via a tablet screen from his rented apartment in Paris 3.625 miles away.

5.834 kilometers. 

This was an unbearable state to be in.

He picked up his tablet – it was sitting on the bedside table. Lately, Raymond was bringing it wherever he went, in case Kevin called, which he only ever did at their previously agreed upon times, and, with a few swipes and taps of his index finger, made a video call to Kevin.

He waited, his heart pounding. He did not know what he would say. This was not like him; it was not like him at all. He liked that they scheduled their calls rigorously, they both had busy lives. They did not need surprises. Surprises were just another word for chaos. What was he doing?

And why was it taking Kevin so long to pick up? It would be early morning in Paris now, 0615, Kevin should be awake. Raymond frowned. He was sitting up against the headboard of their bed, the light from the bedside table glancing off the tablet’s screen, reducing his own reflection to a faint, ghostly outline moving behind the open application. A sinister apparition.

The screen lit up and there was Kevin’s bare arm, the palm of his hand at the bottom of the screen. The bedroom ceiling slid past as Kevin drew his device to him. Raymond’s heart was already beating in a furious rhythm; the sight of his husband’s face appearing among rumpled bedsheets and pillows was almost too much. Clearly, Raymond had woken him up.

“Raymond, what happened? Are you alright?” Kevin’s expression was one of deep concern, yet he still looked breathtaking, his hair in disarray, pale cheeks and upper lip dusted with ginger stubble. What was more, he was only wearing a t-shirt in bed – not a v-neck, he was not a monster – but still, short sleeves. It made Raymond wonder if he had gone to bed in his underwear, a thought that threatened to affect his breathing.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “Nothing happened.”

“Oh. I believe we had agreed that you would call at three p.m. Eastern Standard Time today since you have the day off. Was I mistaken?”

“No. I’m sorry, I decided to surprise you.”

“Good Heavens, why?” Kevin narrowed his eyes at the screen. “Are you intoxicated?”

“No.” Raymond swallowed, debating whether to make up a lie, before deciding against it. “I missed you,” he said.

His beautiful husband looked taken aback.

“I miss you too,” he said gently, sinking back into his pillow.

There was wariness between them, the awareness that any wrong word, any wrong look or gesture could start another fight.

Juts two days ago Raymond had found himself ranting: _the Eiffel Tower is a despicable, ugly rip-off of Latting Observatory! It is truly a hateful column of bolted sheet metal!_

_Is this what it all comes down to? You quoting Jean-Louis Charles Garnier at me? Have you no opinion of your own?_

Now, Raymond drew in a soft breath to calm the fear fluttering in his ribcage.

“You will come visit me soon, won’t you?” Kevin asked carefully.

“Yes.” Raymond had booked the flight, as Kevin knew perfectly well, but then he also knew that Raymond had been making excuses lately, mentioning how stressful things were at the precinct, that Cheddar wasn't quite himself, the house needed repairs. He had been sowing the seeds of doubt that were threatening to take root in his own heart.

The truth was that he was terrified. Terrified of this Professor Kevin Cozner, who was sleeping in his underwear, who was not sharing his bed with other men – not yet anyway – but with stacks of books, who had uploaded a portable document format file to his Columbia University webpage a few days ago, a preview of an upcoming essay, written in French, which Raymond had not been able to read without a dictionary, which even with the dictionary he had not quite understood, whose last monograph had received nothing but the highest praise from his peers because he was brilliant, truly brilliant, the way very few people were. The world had taken notice – and Kevin would laugh at that and say, _I’m still only a classics professor, Raymond, not in engineering, medicine or anything else that actually matters to the majority of people_ – but his world had taken notice and they wanted him, of course they did, how could they not?

They wanted him in Cambridge and Oxford, they wanted him in Heidelberg and Tokyo. Paris was only the beginning and how could Raymond deny Kevin the world when he loved and admired him so much? And yet he found this separation unbearable. The thought of further long absences unthinkable.

“I’d like to apologize for waking you up.”

“My alarm will go off in little more than sixty seconds anyway.”

There would be no time to fight then.

“Is it light outside yet?”

Kevin smiled and Raymond felt something inside his chest settle. He sagged against the headboard, relaxing.

“I’ll go check,” Kevin said.

“You don’t have to—”

But Kevin had already slipped out of bed. Raymond could hear the soft sound of his bare feet hitting the wooden floor. Each step elicited a faint creak from the aged floorboards. As Kevin walked to the window, carrying the tablet with him, Raymond caught glimpses of the stacks of books and papers strewn about the small bedroom.

Kevin opened the curtains. The sun was rising, the sky a palette of warm colors. He held the tablet up so Raymond could see.

“I wish you were here with me right now,” Kevin said.

“So do I,” Raymond replied, filled with yearning. “How long until you have to get up?”

“Twenty-seven seconds.” Kevin turned the camera to his face again. The sunrise shimmered lavender in his irises. He was stunning. “How long until I will be able to kiss you again?”

 _Get on a plane and kiss me today,_ Raymond thought. He bit his lip.

“You tell me,” he said.

Kevin’s gaze slid away. “I’m sorry, Raymond, I have to go.”

He ended the call, taking the sunrise with him.


	4. No Trip to the Orlando Circus

Kevin had just arrived at Charles de Gaulle when, to his relief, his phone rang. Then, he actually looked at his phone and every positive feeling evaporated upon seeing that the call was not from Raymond but an unknown number. He picked up and, not knowing what to expect, opted for a neutral greeting in English.

“Hello?”

“Kevin?”

Kevin blinked. He recognized the deep male voice. A feeling of impending doom came over him. Why was Raymond not on the other end of the line?

“Yes,” he said slowly. He decided to ask for confirmation, just to be safe. “To whom am I speaking, please?”

“It’s Sergeant Terry Jeffords from the Nine-Nine.”

Kevin swallowed.

_Has anything happened to my Raymond?_ he wanted to ask, though he dreaded the answer, but before he could, the Sergeant continued, sounding rushed.

“Listen, Kevin,” he said, “I’m calling on behalf of our mutual friend—"

“Our mutual friend?” Kevin repeated, so confused he was starting to feel light-headed. “Is this a joke of some kind, is Per—”

Jeffords cut him off, “Don’t say any names!”

This made no sense. “But I already said your—”

“Stop talking, man!” Jeffords snapped. Kevin would have been offended if it weren’t for this feeling that something terrible had happened. “Listen!”

His grip tightening around his phone, he moved over to a wall. “I’m listening.”

“So, our friend is fine, but he’s not going to be able to come pick you up later.”

“Why?” he asked reflexively. There was the sound of Jeffords sucking in an angry breath. Then silence. “I’m sorry,” Kevin said, “please continue.”

“Look, you need to tell me if anything has changed regarding your arrival. Is the info you gave our friend still good?”

“Yes, everything is the same.”

“Good, that’s all I needed to know.” His tone softer now, Terry continued, “Someone is going to be there to pick you up. You’ll get to see your friend soon, okay? Don’t worry.”

_Don’t worry?_ After the conversation they had just had? Was Jeffords mad? There were so many questions Kevin wanted to blurt out. _Where is my husband? Is he injured? What is going on?_ But he knew he would not get any answers. Though perhaps there was one thing…

“Are you in contact with him?” Kevin asked tentatively.

“Yes.”

Kevin closed his eyes. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing.

“Can you give him my regards?”

“Sure,” Jeffords said, a little perplexed, “but you’ll see him too. Everything’s gonna be fine. No need to worry.” He was trying to sound reassuring, but Kevin’s heart was thundering in his chest. There was a click; the line went dead. He kept standing where he was, phone pressed to his ear, staring into the constant stream of people – civilians, Raymond would have said – unable to comprehend a thing.

***

Kevin was supposed to arrive at La Guardia at precisely 11:15 a.m. EST. For his eight-hour flight, he had brought some reading material, a recently published collection of essays on the restauration of ancient masonry structures and a digital version of the proceedings of his last conference at the Sorbonne. Kevin stared at the pages of the open book in his lap. The black print sat on the white background like a pattern of meaningless shapes. His eyes tracing the letters, he realized that he did not care about the renovation of ancient masonry – a statement that, had he uttered it in the presence of his husband, would have made Raymond gasp in horror – and when he tried going over the conference proceedings, they, too, seemed pointless, convoluted, mind-numbing.

As a consequence, he spent the flight staring out of the window without really seeing anything, his thoughts too preoccupied with his husband and whatever might have happened to him. He replayed the phone conversation with Jeffords over and over in his head, trying to make sense of it. Raymond was fine? And yet unable to come to call him on the phone? Did that mean he was incarcerated? Or hidden somewhere? He had gone undercover before, though never for long, but now that he was a captain in charge of an entire precinct, it was unlikely he would be assigned such a mission. Then what? Kevin could not figure it out. Whatever it was, it was unprecedented and not good.

***

Their landing was delayed due to another plane blocking the tarmac. When the announcement came, Kevin wanted to jump out of his seat screaming. He did not, of course. Instead, he continued sitting very still, hands folded in his lap – fingernails of one hand digging painfully into the back of the other – taking slow, measured breaths. _You’ll get to see your friend soon, okay?_ Left with nothing else, Kevin clung to these words, desperately.

There was no relief in landing, only a frantic exit, blood rushing in his ears.

He went through the motions of passing the required checks and retrieving his luggage while looking around for a familiar face from the precinct. Surely, someone from the Nine-Nine would be here to pick him up if Raymond himself could not make it?

Kevin scanned the crowd for Jeffords, who seemed the most likely candidate to him. When someone grabbed his forearm, he flinched and stared down at the short, slender figure, pulling him toward the exit.

“Come with me,” the woman, Santiago? he couldn’t see her face from this angle because it was obscured by the dark rose-shearing hat she was wearing, whispered. “You’re late. We’ve got to hurry if you want to see him.”

“What? Why?” Stumbling along while dragging his luggage, Kevin finally found some resistance within himself. This was ludicrous. He stopped abruptly and Santiago, lacking the strength of her sergeant, had no choice but to stop as well. “What is going on?” Kevin snapped, voice low.

Santiago spun around, face contorted behind a pair of black-rimmed glasses he’d never seen on her before.

“I swear, I’ll explain everything in the car, but we have to move _now_!”

She pulled hard on his arm, surprising him with her strength.

“Believe me, Kevin, you don’t want to waste any more time.”

The urgency in her voice, the pain of it, made Kevin swallow his doubt and confusion. His heart heavy with a deep feeling of foreboding, he let her set the pace.

***

Santiago acted as though they were being chased, but then, for all Kevin knew, they were. She tossed his bags into the backseat of her dark sedan, all but pushed him into the passenger seat, before hopping behind the steering wheel, gunning the engine and driving off with squealing tires.

While Kevin was still fumbling with his seatbelt, the detective jabbed a finger at the radio to switch it on, filling the car with the awful noise known as popular music. Only when they were submerged into the thrumming, sickeningly meaningless soundscape, did Santiago start talking, her voice just loud enough to be intelligible among the drivel from the radio.

“Jake and Captain Holt have received death threats from a pretty powerful crime boss and have to go into witness protection. Jake left yesterday; the captain is scheduled to get on a bus in,” she paused to glance at the small digital clock in the dashboard, “a little less than half an hour now. God, we’re running so late.”

She stepped on the accelerator, making Kevin clutch at the handle in the door as he was pressed into his seat.

“What?” he asked faintly, his mind reeling.

“He wants to say goodbye to you,” Amy said, shooting him a glace that was surprisingly tender, “in person, but he won’t be able to, unless we make it in time.”

“Why? Can’t they simply reschedule?”

“No. They weren’t hot about letting him wait this long in the first place. His life is in danger. They need to get him out of the city and to a safe location asap.”

Kevin shook his head, his chest feeling tight. This made no sense.

“I know he has been threatened before,” he said – Raymond might believe otherwise and certainly would not like to hear how painfully aware of the dangers of his job Kevin was, but Captain Raymond Holt had married no fool.

“This is different. Figgis is incredibly dangerous because he has connections everywhere. He had people in the _FBI_.”

“Then how can we trust them to protect my husband?” Kevin asked, aghast.

“We found his moles, that’s why he wants to kill Jake and Captain Holt.”

Kevin stared at Amy. She had a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, her posture was rigid, radiating tension. Clearly, she was worried, unsure, profoundly unhappy. He remembered what she had told him: Peralta was already gone.

“Witness protection is the only way to keep them safe until Figgis is arrested,” Amy said firmly. Kevin could not help thinking that she sounded a bit as though she was trying to convince herself as well.

“And how long will that take?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Kevin blinked, his heart sinking further. “Surely that cannot be true.”

“I’m sorry, Kevin. There’s just no way to know.”

He processed this, or attempted to, at least. “Then,” he said slowly as Santiago made a sharp turn right, “what you are telling me is that after not having seen my husband for the last three months, I will now meet him only for a couple of minutes before he is whisked away, for an indeterminate amount of time?”

Amy glanced over to him, looking pained. “Yes, if we get there before his bus leaves.” Her eyes back on the road, she bit her lip before adding, softly, “I really am sorry. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you.”

All strength seemed to have left his body. Only his hand, claw-like and aching, was still clutching at the door. Next to him, Santiago was driving like Satan himself was hot on their trail. She was pale and drawn, dressed in a navy windbreaker – too large on her narrow frame – and a pair of equally ill-fitting dark trousers. Behind the lenses of her glasses, he noticed, her eyes were shining with unshed tears.

His throat constricting around the urge to scream in childlike rage about the unfairness of the world, Kevin could not manage more than a helpless whisper.

“Actually, Detective, of all people, I think you might be the only one who can.”

***

A bus depot. Grey, utterly interchangeable in its general meaninglessness.

Santiago all but leapt out of the car and, once again, dragged Kevin with her into the nondescript building.

A Kafkaesque nightmare to be pulled through a narrow, windowless hallway, to reach a water-stained door, guarded by two men in suits – stone-faced, clean-shaven, middle-aged – one of whom barked, “Ten minutes.”

He stumbled into the room behind Detective Santiago and instantly, all his focus was on Raymond, who was in the middle of getting up from the ancient brown sofa on which he had been sitting. Raymond, dressed in a navy polo shirt and tan slacks, was looking at him, the expression on his face composed.

“I’m sorry, the landing was delayed, I got him here as fast as I could, sir, I—”

Raymond cleared his throat, and yet, when he interrupted the detective, his voice was thick with emotion. “Thank you, Santiago,” he said as he straightened, “if you could give me a moment alone with my husband, please?”

“Oh, of course, sorry, sure, sorry.” Babbling excuses, Amy backed out of the door, closing it behind her.

They both heard it click shut; they both kept looking into each other’s eyes.

“Kevin,” Raymond said.

Kevin started walking toward him. Four long strides, then they met in the middle of the room, a waiting area of some kind. There were magazines strewn across the couch table, a few more chairs lining the wall. It didn’t matter.

Kevin reached out and put a hand on his husband’s arm. He was warm and solid and he moved another step and wrapped his arms around Kevin.

Anyone could come in at any moment, Kevin thought, and yet, for once, he could not find it within himself to care. He buried his face in Raymond’s shoulder and breathed in. His husband’s smell was as soothing as ever. When Kevin had been homesick in Paris, he had been homesick for this: Raymond’s smell, the gentle slope of his stomach pressing against Kevin’s, the warmth of his skin, the broadness of his back. Even through layers of clothing – shirt, sweater vest, coat – Kevin’s skin soaked up Raymond’s touch. 

“Tell me you are not leaving,” he murmured into the fabric of the polo shirt.

“I could, but I would be lying.” Raymond’s voice reverberated through his body, a ripple of warmth. Kevin had always loved his husband’s straightforwardness, no matter how heartbreaking the truth. He brought up one hand to cup the back of Raymond’s neck and lifted his head off his shoulder to look into his eyes.

“Then take me with you,” Kevin said, tipping his head to touch foreheads with his husband.

“I’m sorry, but that is not possible. You will be safer here; measures have been taken to ensure that.”

Raymond was stroking his back soothingly, his steady gaze locked with Kevin’s. But there was no comfort in this. Kevin thought of the bottles of Château Pétrus in his suitcase – he had forgotten to declare them at customs, Raymond would disapprove of this – he thought of the reunion he had imagined they would have. The blissfully quiet drive home, stepping inside their house to be greeted by Cheddar and then… Raymond.

Frankly, he had thought he would spend his first few hours back on US soil in bed with his husband, since Raymond had taken the day off for his return.

Kevin had planned to stay in bed until evening, then to make dinner – bœuf bourguignon following a French colleague’s old family recipe – to have a romantic dinner with his husband before retiring early. With his husband.

Now he was here, in this drab little room, with only a couple hundred seconds.

“I should never have gone to France,” Kevin whispered, his heart heavy with regret. He was not a man of numbers – certainly not the way Raymond was – but all those months ago, he had tried to do something like a cost-benefit analysis of his semester abroad. He had miscalculated; he had vastly underestimated the cost to his marriage. It had not been worth it.

Raymond, however, cupped his cheek, the gold of his wedding ring warm against Kevin’s skin. “Kevin, this is not happening because of anything you did. You did wonderful work in Paris. The articles you wrote—”

“Screw them, who cares?” hissed Kevin, the vehemence of his reaction, the rawness of emotion in his voice surprising even himself.

“Kevin!” Raymond flinched, scandalized by this uncharacteristic outburst.

“You mean more to me than any of that, don’t you know that?” Raymond was staring at him, eyes wide and, Kevin noticed, suddenly brimming with tears. He had not known. “Good God, what kind of husband have I been that you don’t know that?”

Raymond’s lips parted; he was about to say something, but what was there to say? They had wasted so much time already.

Kevin leaned in and cut him off with a kiss.

***

Kevin’s eyes fluttered open as he pulled away after a period of time he could not have measured if his life had depended on it.

“How much have we left?” he asked his husband.

“63 seconds,” Raymond said, his precision making Kevin’s heart skip a beat.

“In how much danger are you?” he whispered against Raymond’s soft lips.

“You don’t need to worry about me. I will be fine. This is temporary.” He sounded so calm, his voice so steady. Unshakable, his Raymond, always.

_Everything is temporary,_ Kevin thought, _'fies tu quoque fortis'_

He breathed into the space between them a promise, punctuated by his beating heart, _“nec mora, venit amor—non umbras nocte volantis, non timeo strictas in mea fata manus.”_

Aloud he asked, his hand stroking the side of Raymond’s face, “What will I do without you?”

Raymond closed his eyes briefly, contemplating. “You will take care of Cheddar, you will work, you will teach, you will write brilliant articles, Professor Cozner. If you need anything, you can always contact my squad.”

“I will miss you.”

“I will miss you as well.”

Kevin stole another kiss – there was a finite number of them, he thought, and he wondered if Raymond was keeping count.

Eight seconds.

They both took one step back, their arms falling empty to their sides.

When the door was pushed open by the men in suits, Santiago lingering behind them, Kevin and Raymond were shaking hands.

“Goodbye, Raymond,” Kevin said.

“Goodbye, Kevin,” his husband replied.

***

“May I drive?” Kevin asked Amy outside.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I find the monotony of it soothing.”

She looked at him with her big brown eyes, clearly searching his face for signs of emotion, but Kevin kept his heartbreak where it belonged, locked in his ribcage. 

In the car, over the hum of the engine – this time the only noise as the radio had stayed blissfully silent – he said, “Raymond mentioned measures that had been taken to ensure my safety. What exactly was he talking about?”

Amy sighed softly. When he glanced over, he saw a guilty look on her face.

“The Department of Justice has temporarily erased all records of Jake and the captain. Until a couple of days ago, Figgis didn’t even know they existed. If he tries to find out anything about them now, there’s nothing. No paper trail at all.”

“How is that possible?”

Amy shrugged. “Jake’s name was never on the lease of our apartment because it was mine first and we never really bothered to change it. We’re not married. You never had the same last name as the captain and the house and bank accounts are all in your name now – I think most of your stuff was anyway. They told me they barely had to change anything which apparently made this easy.”

Fingers clenching around the steering wheel, Kevin found himself wishing he had taken Raymond’s name. He had no desire to talk to Santiago about Raymond’s gambling addiction and how it had affected the way they organized their finances.

“What about birth certificates?” He swallowed, glancing at the ring catching the sunlight on his finger. “What about our marriage certificate?”

“Gone,” Amy said.

“Then I am not married now?” Kevin felt a vast emptiness expand inside him. Surely this was not possible.

“I’m sorry. They don’t exist on paper anymore. They have different identities.”

“People know that I am married. And what about their mothers?”

“Jake’s mom and dad are spending the next couple of months in Canada. Apparently his dad has a cabin there. And the honorable judge is on a cruise for now. As for the people who know you’re married, for all Figgis knows the captain is a cop with cop friends, and he’s not going to risk coming for any of us. But you will have a security detail on your house.”

“I don’t care about that,” Kevin said bitterly. He thought about the two men at the bus depot. Their dark suits, their blank faces. How they had taken an eraser to thirty years of his life.

“Detective,” he asked, “have you read ʻDer Prozeßʼ by Franz Kafka?”

Panic flitted across Amy’s face, reminding Kevin of what his husband had told him about Santiago and her eagerness to prove herself the best student in class.

“Years ago,” she squeaked, “and in English, sorry. I don’t speak German, but I could learn. I mean—"

“I’m asking out of curiosity,” he interrupted gently, “This is not a test. I was reminded of it today.”

“How so?” she asked, proof that she did not remember the text at all.

He shook his head. “It’s not important.”

Kevin pictured Franz Kafka, the insurance officer, dark and sickly and deathly musophobic.

_Wo war der Richter, den er nie gesehen hatte? Wo war das hohe Gericht, bis zu dem er nie gekommen war?_

He glanced at Amy once more. Her eyes were downcast, she was chewing on her lip. He had locked her out and it had hurt her feelings. Something inside him softened.

“Would you like to come to dinner tomorrow?” he asked, causing her to jerk up as though awakening from a deep sleep.

“Really? I mean, yes! Yeah!” She cleared her throat, trying again, straining to sound, if not normal, then at least slightly less deranged. “Yes, I would like that.”

“Good. Raymond told me you were quite the scholar yourself. You majored in art history?”

Amy nodded eagerly.

“Perhaps you’d like to take a look at some of the work I did in France? It needs editing and—”

“Yes!” Amy exclaimed before clamping her hands over her mouth.

Kevin felt his eyebrow quirk. “Of course, I will compensate you for anything you contribute and I understand if you are too busy to—”

A sharp pain pierced his arm as Amy’s hand clutched at his bicep, her fingernails digging into his coat.

“Don’t you dare take this off the table,” she snapped before visibly reining herself in, letting go and sitting back in her seat. “I mean, I’m not too busy. I would be honored and thank you so much for this opportunity.”

“You’re… welcome,” Kevin said as they pulled up at his house.

His house. Where he lived with his dog.

Alone.


	5. No 3x23

Captain Raymond Holt was exhausted. He did not like to admit it, though he had, in front of his whole squad, in the middle of the party he had so painstakingly prepared. But that was neither here nor there. What was here was his first night off in two weeks and he had nearly slept through it. For years he had not needed an alarm clock since his internal clock was usually infallible. The night shift, however, had destroyed his rhythm.

Yet when he opened his eyes, it was not because of the incessant blaring of his alarm clock but because of the hand gently shaking his shoulder. 

“Raymond, are you alright?”

Kevin was hovering over him, a concerned look on his face.

“Yes,” he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep, “What time is it?”

“It is a quarter to six. We were going to have dinner in fifteen minutes. I thought you would be up already.”

Detecting a gentle reprimand in his husband’s tone, Raymond stiffened. “I will be up in a second,” he replied.

Kevin frowned. “If you are too tired, we can reschedule.”

How would they reschedule, Raymond wondered, it might be weeks before the stars aligned and granted them another free evening.

“You have already cooked dinner, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but I could always put it in the fridge or in the freezer. We could reheat it anytime.”

His husband was trying to be understanding and yet Raymond felt a prick of resentment at the way he was being addressed. Wasn’t Kevin a tad too sweet? Too gentle? Wasn’t he being asinine and patronizing?

Shaking his head, Raymond pushed himself up. As expected, the movement caused a twinge of pain in his leg. By now, he was used to this. He rode out the following muscle spasm, silently wishing Kevin would stop looking at him.

“I will only take a few minutes. You can go ahead and set the table, Dear.”

Kevin nodded and reached out once more to squeeze his shoulder. It was a loving gesture, a familiar comfort, one Raymond wished he could appreciate.

***

Downstairs the table was set by the time Raymond braved the stairs - which still hurt, every step pulling at the stitches in his thigh, though they had been removed two days before, Raymond reminded himself. His body seemed stuck in the past, in that rotten state, glands producing sweat despite the New York chill, tang of one electric blue beverage or another lingering on the back of his tongue.

Raymond blinked and forced himself into the present. 

The lights were dimmed in the dining-room - or perhaps one of the light bulbs had burned out and Kevin had forgotten to replace it - he was terrible with things like that, buying the right bulb and actually screwing it in. He would wander the aisles of Home Depot in confusion, inevitably get lost and return home hours later with a new lawn mower. And yet, Raymond had once come back from work to find his husband in the backyard in the middle of making a bronze arrowhead. Kevin had melted down copper and tin to make the bronze - “88% copper, 12% tin,” he had told a very surprised Raymond - and poured the molten metal into a mold he had also crafted himself. 

Now Kevin was holding a lit match to a candle in the center of their dining table, the warped reflection of the flame jumping across his wedding band.

A literal candlelight dinner. It seemed excessive. 

But then Kevin looked up at him and smiled and Raymond caught the hint of uncertainty in his eyes - like first date nerves - and sat down.

***

Kevin’s boeuf bourguignon was authentic and too rich in flavor for Raymond. It overwhelmed his tastebuds with every bite. He did not really like it, yet felt admitting this would ruin the evening, so he hmm’d when Kevin asked his opinion.

Kevin, of course, could tell, but said nothing.

Conversation was stalling anyway, as Raymond found himself struggling to come up with topics. While he did not want to talk about Florida, a past he would rather forget, his present consisted exclusively of work, sleep and the ache in his leg.

He sipped his wine in silence as he pushed the food around on his plate, thinking that he would have preferred a piece of plain toast, a glass of water and a night in front of the television.

“Oh,” Kevin said suddenly, eyes bright with discovery, “have I told you about the interesting conversation I had with a student in France?”

“No.” Raymond had to stifle a yawn. He was exhausted but must have managed to feign enough engagement for Kevin to continue.

“He was a mathematician and he told me that the so-called Monty Hall problem is still one of the greatest sources of confusion. Even professors sometimes struggle with it!”

“The Monty Hall problem?”

“You haven’t heard of it?” Kevin looked positively eager now. 

“I don’t think so.” A math problem. That did pique Raymond’s interest. He stabbed his fork into a piece of potato, waiting as his husband chewed.

Finally, after Kevin had swallowed and dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, he smiled and said,“Imagine you’re on a game show, there are three doors, behind one of which is a car.”

Raymond nodded, so far unimpressed with the childish gameshow setup. 

“You pick a door,” Kevin continued. “The host, who knows where the car is, opens a different door, showing you there’s nothing behind it. Now the host asks if you’d like to choose the other unopened door. Should you do it?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Well, this was nothing exciting. “No, obviously,” Raymond replied.

The corner of Kevin’s mouth twitched up. “Yes, you should.”

“It makes no difference. Your chances to win a car are fifty-fifty either way.”

“That is not true. The probability changes when the host reveals the empty door.” Some of the smugness had vanished from Kevin’s expression, now he was in professor mode.

“The probability does not change. The car did not change position. It is still behind the same door. Eliminating one choice only means that now there is a fifty percent chance that you picked the right door,” Raymond explained. He felt as though he was talking to a child. “I cannot believe you let a student convince you of this nonsense,” he added, then had to bite his tongue to keep himself from voicing his next - he had to admit quite bitter - thought. He must have had a pretty face. 

“No, Raymond, the probability does change. It’s one third for the first door, two thirds if you switch.”

Raymond scoffed. “No, it doesn’t.”

Kevin frowned. “Yes, it does.”

Raymond rolled his eyes. “No, it does not.”

Kevin narrowed his. “Yes, it does.”

***

Their dinner was ruined. Kevin had ruined it. 

Raymond watched his husband clear away the plates as Cheddar sniffed around under the table. The dog was clearly hoping for food scraps to come his way, which hardened the suspicion Raymond had been harboring, namely that Kevin had spoiled the dog in his absence. Additional evidence: some stray strands of fur he had discovered on his side of the bed.

Now, however, was not the moment to bring this up, since the atmosphere was already chilly. Kevin had made further ridiculous attempts to convince Raymond his idiotic answer to the math problem was actually correct, which Raymond had shot down, until his husband, with a long-suffering sigh, had given up.

“I will go upstairs and watch some TV,” he said. “You can join me if you’d like.” That was as much of an olive branch he was willing to offer. 

Kevin looked up, his mouth a thin, unhappy line. “I think I will stay downstairs a little bit longer and read.”

Suit yourself, Raymond thought.

He fell asleep before Kevin went to bed and when he woke up his husband had left for work.

***

Unexpectedly, Kevin showed up at the precinct the next evening with a container of leftover boeuf bourguignon and no apology. Instead they roped Santiago and Diaz into their row, ruining his already chaotic workday as well. 

By the time he returned home after his shift, Kevin had already gone to his office. 

***

They encountered one another in the afternoon. Kevin took Cheddar for a walk after asking Raymond whether he wanted to join them. Raymond declined, so Kevin and Cheddar left without him.

Shortly before he had to go to work, Kevin returned with Cheddar and they clashed in front of the fireplace. Raymond had not slept; he was exhausted, irritated and tired of Kevin’s smug face. How could Kevin not see how wrong he was?

“Do I have to teach you seventh grade statistics?” Kevin asked, making Raymond roll his eyes at the lame comeback.

“Do I have to teach you sixth grade statistics?” he shot back.

“I don’t have time for this,” Kevin snapped before stalking off, defeated. 

***

In the car on his way to the precinct, Raymond tried not to dissect Monty Hall again. He knew he was right and that Kevin was wrong. That much was obvious.

Kevin’s stubbornness was the problem. 

Once he had set his mind on something, there was no changing it. It had been the same with Paris.

Come to think of it, when Kevin Cozner had been faced with a three door dilemma - go to Paris for six months without your husband, go to Paris for six months with your husband or stay in New York City with your husband - he had picked option one. Raymond telling him that option two was impossible had not made him switch to option three.

There. That was proof. Kevin was a hypocrite. And also wrong. On all accounts.

As always, Raymond's logic was flawless.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter - more than the previous ones - needs a reconcilliation sequel because I don't like where I left Raymond and Kevin in this.


End file.
